


Nameless

by Sharzdah



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: F/M, Retrospective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21805651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharzdah/pseuds/Sharzdah
Summary: There’s a reason why she only calls him by his profession. It’s safer this way. He was a priest; that’s all. No name. No background, just a man of God, standing at the altar during mass, doing priestly-things.Giving him a name makes things too personal, implies that he holds some meaning in her life, except he doesn’t. He’s just a priest.Except he’s not.
Relationships: Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Nameless

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Season 2. I may be in my feelings.

She isn’t stupid.

She knew her life may be a mess.

Most likely a mess.

Fuck it, _is_ a mess.

With the strings of boyfriends (if she could call them that), a potentially failing-café, a sex addiction that she refused to talk about as well as her family dynamics. As well as Boo—people have questioned her life choices before, and usually, her response to them is to go fuck themselves.

Except for Claire. Claire doesn’t count. Claire maybe _Claire_ , but under all of her layers, she was Claire, her older sister. Perhaps the only stable constant in her life.

No, there is The Priest.

No, there _was_ The Priest.

There’s a reason why she only calls him by his profession.

 _Father_.

It’s safer this way.

He was a priest; that’s all. No name. No background, just a man of God, standing at the altar during mass, doing priestly-things.

Giving him a name makes things too personal, implies that he holds some meaning in her life, except he doesn’t.

He’s just a priest.

She also has a tendency to lie. Lying is easy. Lying allows her not to dwell on less-than-admirable situations during the heat of the moment. _Yes, father, for the last time, the café is going well_. Yes _, father, I do not mind that you’re in a relationship with the Godmother. No problem, at all. No, I’m not having money-issues. I’m fine_.

She wasn’t.

And go figure, the first person she had ever admitted that fact to was a priest. A fucking priest. During what she probably could call a sham of a confession. At night, when all she wanted to do was get him out of his holy dress and ride him into the night.

Go-fucking-figure.

(And _damn_ , could that man kiss. It was absolutely amazing how he could go from zero to a hundred in, what she strongly believes, nanoseconds. He’s a priest, damn it. How he can bring on so much heat? Wasn't that the point of attending a seminary, to erase and suppress all of _that_?)

The Priest, she realizes, makes things way too complicated. But it’s fine. It was fine because _damn_ , it felt so good. She felt so happy, and she knew he did, too. Despite his obvious dilemma—But as she realized during that fateful day, at that fateful bus stop, all things must come to an end.

She’s hurt, no doubt about it, but she’s not foolish enough to be surprised. After all, The Priest is a _priest_. He has obligations (that doesn’t involve fucking _her_ , again); he made a vow and isn’t at the point in his life to put it aside.

It hurts, it hurts _so_ much.

But she’ll live. Her life has been so much of a rollercoaster ride that she can, will, overcome the heartbreak. It’s not the end of the world. It fucking sucks, but it’s not the end of the world.

“I’m a mess,” she tells Claire as they sit in their favorite bench, in her favorite cemetery. Within sight of her favorite man who’s once again fake-mourning over a tombstone. “I’m in love with a priest. A _damn priest_ , Claire.” It takes all of her might not to wallow with her face in her hands. After all, she has a façade to upkeep. “And now… he’s gone.”

She doesn’t expect to receive any pity. Claire understands her enough not to give it to her. “He’ll be back,” Claire says with conviction.

“ _What_? Have you not been paying attention to the trials and tribulations of my pathetic love life?”

“Personally, I think all of this love-nonsense is pathetic but… He’ll be back.”

Not what she expects her sister to say. She was expecting something along of the lines of: _Get over him. Get over it. He’s an ordained priest, for heaven’s sake. What did you expect was going to happen?_

“Claire—”

“In one way or another.”

“What are you doing?”

Claire finally faces her. “Giving you hope?” she provides, but then scrunches up her face because even she is surprised by her own words.

She wants to tell her sister that her words aren’t helping. That no, The Priest (thank goodness, she doesn’t use his name) is sticking to his conviction. They’ve crashed and burned without any slip of revitalization in sight—But she doesn’t.

“Thank you, Claire,” she ends up saying.

“You’re welcome.”


End file.
